


Shattering

by Skydiver_Tomyo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Word prompt, attempted suicide, break-up, during CA:TWS, heartbreak UwU, mentions of daddy asshole dearest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skydiver_Tomyo/pseuds/Skydiver_Tomyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Word prompt turned into something.</p>
<p>Set from Tony's perspective, and following Steve leaving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missingnolovefic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/gifts).



> A word prompt on Tumblr turned into this! :D
> 
> Word prompt: Tony, Shatter.

Tony had seen his fair share of shit go down. More than any many in this decade should, he’d thought. But there was  _always_ something more, something worse the world could throw at him.

He just didn’t think it would be this way.

Somewhere to his right, probably smashed into tiny bits and pieces, were the pictureframe he had on his desk  _all the time_. Shattered, glass thorn through paper. He hadn’t cared when he’d thrown it, but now… he did regret it. It was a nice picture.

Steve had said he should smile more often. That ‘real’ smile that Natasha had noted Tony only gave to his closest. He didn’t have a lot of closest. Oh well, didn’t matter now, did it?

Warmth had come and gone. Just like his father had said.

_“Love is a feeble thing, Anthony. Addictive and destructive.”_

Addictive, check.

Destructive, check.

But feeble, no. His love was not feeble, nor fleeting. He’d crushed on the guy since he was old enough to have screwdrivers thrust into his stubby hands. His father was a great many things, a disappointing father, a drunken bastard, a distant husband, but he also taught Tony a great many things. Too many.

Not to open ones heart to those around.

Tony failed.

_I’m so sorry, Tony, but I have to._

_Why?!_

No, sorry wouldn’t cut it. Not for Tony. He’d had too many people leave him, one way or another. It was always what it came down to in the end. Tony had only held on because he’d hoped. Foolish, perhaps, but he had and now he didn’t have it anymore.

_I have to go find him. Please understand, he means everything to me._

Tony did understand. For Rhodey, he’d do anything. But that was comparable. After all, having a lover who ditched you to seek out his ex/current assassin was about as rare of a circumstance as anything. He’d tried to hold on, as best he could, even though he knew it was a losing fight.

_If you love me, you will allow me to help, but please don’t leave me for this._

_I’m sorry._

_No, your not…_

Tony was not a strong man. In fact, he was a very weak man, incredible so. Nor was he honest or dependable, but he had tried. He’d fought, but knew that standing between a seventy-something year old war veteran turned brain washed assassin and his equally old, super soldier of a former lover, brought him nothing but pain.

A bottle rolled over the edge of his desk. Losing what he’d had, he sought a new solution at the bottom the bottle. It wouldn’t be worth in the morning, but no one had stopped him yet.

No, that man wasn’t sorry. He’d turned and walked right out that damn door with his head held high. And Tony… Tony had thrown a tantrum for the ages. Childish, then, to hope that there was someone who could truly see past his walls. Rhodey had. Pepper had. And yet… Steve hadn’t.

It was his own fault, he supposed.

After all, he hadn’t kept his eyes on everything that possible be a threat.

His therapist had suggested he try not to. For once, stop being so paranoid right. Then shit goes from worse to hell and he is left here, in his messy, cluttered workshop with bleeding hands and a bleeding heart. The glass walls seperating his workshop from the rest of the floor was shattered. Millions of pieces everywhere. Retaliation for being broken.

Tony didn’t fear backlash, never had. But looking at the screen in front of him. Of Captain America saving the day and smiling at the camera, he felt nothing. He’d emptied himself out hours ago, dry and swollen with anger, sadness and defiance.

Tony Stark did not get heartbroken, and he definitely did not cry.

Anthony Edward Stark, that little boy who’s dreams had been dashed from day one. He did.

The screen in front of him flickered to something else and Tony slumped, bloodied fingers dragged down and off it, leaving bloody streaks in it’s wake. Something clattered to the floor. Someone was shouting. Tony closed his eyes, warding off the world. He sought refuge in the darkness behind his eyelids.

Nothing mattered. Not the white walls, not the white sheets. Not the tubes, or the distant, blurred faces of pity. Someone was talking again, yelling. Annoying voices. Recognizable, but not wanted. Tony turned away.

He didn’t care for them, nor did he care for the world.

His father was right. He really was nothing.

A shattered, broken being that should never have existed.


End file.
